University of Virginia Library

SCENA SECVNDA.

Enter Luceo, Maria, and Nutriche.
Mar.
Stay gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand.

Lu.
O, Madam

Ma.
Nay, pree thee giue me leaue to say, vouchsafe,
Submisse intreats beseeme my humble fate.
Here let vs sit. O Luceo, fortunes gilt
Is rubd quite off from my slight tin-foild state,
And poore Maria must appeare vngrac't
Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd maiestie.

Luc.
Cheer vp your spirits Madam; fairer chance
Then that which courts your presence instantly,
Can not be formd by the quick mould of thought.

Mari.
Art thou assur'd the dukes are reconcil'd?
Shall my wombes honour wed faire Mellida?
Will heauen at length grant harbour to my head?
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio?
And wreath my armes about Antonio's necke?
Or is glib rumor growne a parasite,
Holding a false glasse to my sorrowes eyes,
Making the wrinkl'd front of griefe seeme faire,
Though tis much riueld with abortiue care.

Lu.
Most virtuous Princesse, banish straggling feare,
Keepe league with comfort. For these eyes beheld
Tke Dukes vnited; yon faint glimmering light
Nere peeped through the crannies of the east,
Since I beheld them drinke a sound carouse,
In sparkling Bacchus,
Vnto eache others health;
Your sonne assur'd to beautious Mellida:
And all clouds clear'd of threatning discontent.

Ma.
What age is morning of?

Lu.
I thinke 'bout fiue.

Ma.
Nutriche, Nutriche.

Nu.

Be shrow your fingers marry, you haue disturb'd
the pleasure of the finest dreame. O God, I was euen
comming to it lawe. O Iesu, twas comming of the swetest.
Ile tell you now, me thought I was maried, and
mee thought I spent (O Lord why did you wake mee)
and mee thought I spent three spur Roials on the Fidlers
for striking vp a fresh horne pipe. Saint Vrsula, I
was euen going to bed, & you, mee thought, my husband
was euen putting out the tapers, when you, Lord

I shall neuer haue such a dreame come vpon mee, as
long as

Ma.
Peace idle creature, peace.
When will the Court rise?

Lu.
Madam, twere best you tooke some lodging vp,
And lay in priuate till the soile of griefe
Were cleard your cheeke, and new burnisht lustre
Cloath'd your presence, 'fore you sawe the Dukes,
And enterd, 'mong the proud Venetian States.

Mar.
No Lucio, my deare Lord's wise, and knowes
That tinsill glitter, or rich purfled robes,
Curled haires, hung full of sparkling Carcanets,
Are not the true adornements of a wife.
So long as wiues are faithfull, modest, chaste,
Wise Lords affect them. Vertue doth not waste,
With each slight flame of crackling vanitie.
A modest eye forceth affection,
Whilest outward gainesse light lookes but entice.
Fairer then Natures faire is fowlest vice.
She that loues Art, to get her cheeke more louers,
Much outward gaudes slight inward grace discouers.
I care not to seeme faire, but to my Lord.
Those that striue most to please most strangers sight,
Follie may iudge most faire, wisdome most light.
Musique sounds a short straine.
But harke, soft musique gently mooues the ayre:
I thinke the bridegroom's vp. Lucio, stand close.
O, now Marya, chalenge griefe to stay
Thy ioyes encounter. Looke Lucio, tis cleare day.